BEN BOLT'S GRAVE.
By the side of sweet Alice they have laid Ben Bolt,
Where oft he longed to repose;
For there be would kneel with the early spring flowers,
And plant on his darling the rose.
His heart was as true as the star to his gaze
When tossed on the billows alone.
But now it is cold and forever at rest,
For he calmly lies under the stone.
At last he is gone to the bright spirit lands,
And free from all sorrow and pain;
he tastes the full rapture of angels above
To meet with sweet Alice again.
We gather the flowers from the green, shady brook,
And moss from the silent old mill,
To strew o'er the grave where now doth repose
The hearts that death hardly could chill.
And oft when the soul has grown weary and sad
We come by twilight alone
To muse o'er the spot where together Ben Bolt
And sweet Alice lie under the stone.